


It's bloody and raw, but I swear it is sweet

by Dissipating_Mango



Category: Invader Zim
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Fighting, M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-01-31 12:54:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21446527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dissipating_Mango/pseuds/Dissipating_Mango
Summary: This wasn't the first time. Probably wasn't going to be the last. Not a word was uttered on day one, that was the first rule of their game.
Relationships: Dib/Zim (Invader Zim)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 115





	It's bloody and raw, but I swear it is sweet

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for zadr week 2, with the theme being song lyric. Title comes from Angel of Small Death and the Codeine Scene by Hozier. Give it a listen, if you haven't already, it's got some good zadr vibes imo, I was toying between a bunch of lines to use for the title. Happy zadrday!

It was stupid. Ridiculous. Nothing to get upset over. 

Hardly the worst thing he'd ever done.

But Dib was feeling antsy. And Zim wasn't an easy target, but he was always there. That's what mattered anyway. 

Yeah, the first punch hurt like a bitch, and maybe forty years down the road, he'd be paying for a metal spine that beeped when he walked through airport security. But that sweet, sweet adrenaline rushed through his veins like opium and the small pain of the first hit was nothing, compared to the euphoria. 

It wasn't masochism, just releasing tension.

His vision lagged and his arms felt like they were asking his body for an update he kept pressing ignore on. Too slow. Backhanded onto the ground, he cursed and spat the blood that trickled into his teeth. 

The green bastard caught him off guard. Fuck that.

In a motion, almost as confused as his motive, he toppled forwards, slamming his forehead into Zim's, and pushed them both onto the pavement of the abandoned parking lot. 

It was chance his lips happened to land where they did. Dib took his opportunity, pulled the skin into his teeth, and bit. 

Zim yelped in pain. Cried, in something else, when he sucked on the bite.

His pulse was strange. Faster than usual, that could be expected; vibrating like a double time waltz. Da, dum dum. 

Zim's neck was shiny. Wet. Not yet ugly purple, the color Dib came to recognize as bruising over the years. He bent back down to try again. 

  
There was no thought here, no words. Actions manifested of their own accord, and speaking would break the spell. Plausable deniability. 

  
His hot breath spun up, up, up. Visible in the cold. With their mouths so close, they could exhale and no one could tell where one breath started and the other ended. 

Another sudden slam knocked the wind out of Dib. Zim sat on his chest, all his weight squarely on his sternum, and human lungs gasped for air they couldn't feel. 

His body slid down, down, down. Unquestionable evidence of arousal present in both parties. Dib gripped him by his slender waist and ground up.

Zim didn't seem to mind, as he scraped his teeth against the human's soft neck. The taste of salt heavy on his long, segmented tongue.

Dib whimpered and spread his legs.

"Fuck..."

  
And suddenly it was back to square one. 

Dib wheezed and pressed a hand to the side of his chest, hoping the kick didn't break any ribs. He grinned, bloodied teeth bared, to see Zim's eyes water when he rubbed his jaw. 

Four pointed, metal legs, flung Zim into the sky. Razor sharp. Dib swallowed back the vile metal taste, an unpleasant tickle in the back of his throat. 

His legs shook and trembled, but it was fine. He could play hurt. 

The tip of a metal limb pierced Dib's shoulder, staining his blue shirt a damp maroon. Bending down, Zim grabbed his arm and pulled him close, gloved thumb pressing into the edges of the wound. Almost penetrating. The gesture, as sick and depraved as it was, coaxed a low, choked moan from Dib's lips. 

He could try to deny it, scream from the rooftops until his throat ached to swallow and his voice was gone. But in the privacy of early morning, when everyone else was in dispose, when his eyelids drooped, when he gasped Zim's name in vain, and when he came apart by his own hand; he could accept he loved it. 

With just enough strength, or maybe Zim was going easy on him, Dib twisted his arm and pushed. Spider legs retracted and the alien lay prone in the gravel. He could walk away and be done. 

But...

"That all you got earth-stink?" 

  
Oh he knew what he was doing. It didn't matter what planet you came from; that was a universally suggestive pose. 

Dib didn't know what he wanted, or what he was looking for, when he crawled on top of Zim. Too many crossed wires in his brain. No time to question why the claws scraping down his back felt more like seduction than defense. 

Certainly no time to question why he didn't fight back when the shorter male pinned his arms above his head; how he pushed his shirt out of the way and snaked his tongue around Dib's fresh cut. 

Soon enough, angry lips pressed against his and that same alien tongue was slithering its way down his throat. 

This wasn't the first time. Probably wasn't going to be the last. Not a word was uttered on day one, that was the first rule of their game. 

The second rule? Keep pushing. 

  
So he pushed. Dib learned, tucked neatly under his stupid wig, just what kinds of sounds could come from tugging at the stalks. That the flesh around the metal rim of his back was sensitive to all manner of touch. 

He shoved a knee between his legs. Learned male meant the same for Irkens as it did for humans. Specifics would be nice, but ultimately, unnecessary.

Left to sputter and cough, and hack away his lungs, his mouth was soon empty. Phantom movements still present when he gasped for air. 

  
Maybe Zim finally realized, in his frantic rutting, this wasn't a great method to subdue your enemies. Dib was too proud to admit it was an excellent way to subdue him.

He watched, with baited breath, Zim pull away from his body, retracting his clawed hands. But not in a single, flinching movement. 

That would be too easy.

No, those hands took their sweet time, trailing down his belly, just below his navel. Dib's face burned with shame as he arched his back, desperate to keep those slowly evacuating hands still, just for a second longer. 

Zim swallowed. His hand was cupping exactly where Dib wanted it. And instantly, the game changed. Stillness was the enemy. 

Friction his loathsome mistress. 

With guarded suspicions, they met in the middle. Dib rolled his hips and reveled in the sensation of surprisingly gentle strokes.

Hand shaking, Zim grabbed Dib's own and placed it between his legs. 

  
Months ago, he would've laughed if someone told him the hideous space bug flung from some godforsaken planet light-years away, hell-bent on conquering the earth, would be in the comprised position he was in right now. 

The alien's nervousness relieved Dib in some way. He supposed it was the idea that neither of them knew what the hell was going on. A confirmation he wanted it just as much, and understood it just as little. 

Or maybe, Dib just liked the idea of being his first.

  
A breathy moan escaped from someone's mouth. At this point, the distinctions between who were murky. 

The ground was rough underneath them. Small rocks stuck into Dib's back.

Zim's leggings were smooth and unlike any other material on earth. Too silky, too rubbery. His fingers absorbed the sensation happily and he palmed the hard length underneath with vigor. 

In the loose zone of arousal, Dib didn't care the eyes staring back at him weren't human. They were blown, false pupils dark and wide.

Heat simmered in his belly, and he struggled against the single hand around his wrist. Locked muscles in his lean arms were unwavering.

Dib's brain split into two as the inevitable outcome was barreling towards him at supersonic speed. The angel on his shoulder chastised him, reminded him this was not the time nor the place. The devil on his other, tempted him to just enjoy the ride. A sudden throb told him he had to make a decision, and _fast_.

  
There was only one way out of this. He had to break the rules.

"Just admit it..." 

The pace slowed at his words, but did not stop. Zim's lips were tight. He pressed against Dib's now still hand, silently urging it to rub him again. Guilt prickled under Dib's skin. Pleading purple eyes.

  
"Admit it, and I'll give it to you." 

The spell was broken. Their bodies tore away, reluctant and repulsed at the same time. His face was flushed, neck purple, fake hair tousled. But Dib was sure he was the one who looked worse for wear.

  
Zim shot him a final look of disgust and ran off. He supposed it was apt. Dib felt slimy. 

Fingertips traced the edges of his wound with the same affection one might have for a lipstick stain, or a love bite. 

His body tingled all over, electrified and strung out. They couldn't keep doing this. It was a vicious cycle; build the tension, until it's just about to snap, and then start over, even more wound up than before. Dib swore to himself, just as he did yesterday, this was the last time. 

  
But his mind betrayed him, once again, at 2:24 AM. And after his nightly ritual, he was back to planning their next encounter.


End file.
